Jessie Humphries - Killing Ruby Rose

“Anyway, one night, when I was thirteen, I just couldn’t take it anymore. He came home from work late, drunk and out of his mind. He was angry about…everything. He went after my mom. Slapping her, pushing her, accusing her of having affairs when everyone knew—well, I knew because I was the oldest—that he was the one sleeping around. He threw Christian across the room for getting in the way and was about to go after Tug for crying when I snapped. He got me in the ear with a broken beer bottle, but I…” He closed his eyes as if talking about it made him relive it.

I put my hands on his cheeks and made him look at me. It was my turn to comfort him. “It’s OK—if there’s anybody in this world who’d understand, it’s me.”

“I would have done anything to protect my mom and brothers, even if it meant killing him.” Liam swallowed hard, like he regretted letting his dad live. I finally understood why he liked me—I was just as damaged as he was, if not more.

He was big and strong and gorgeous, but broken. Cracked inside—just like me. We both put on our best show, but underneath we couldn’t stop the suffering for those we’d lost and what we’d done.

“Where is he?” I asked, wondering if I needed to go kick his ass right this second.

“He still lives up in NorCal. I haven’t seen him since the trial.”

“Trial? He pressed charges on you?” I gasped and placed my hands over his balled-up fists.

“Yeah, and they stuck. They said I should’ve spoken up about the abuse— if it really happened.” He squeezed my hand. “They didn’t believe me after the fact.”

“What? Didn’t your mom and brothers testify to back you up? Surely they had bruises or other physical evidence to corroborate your side of the story.”

“Things got complicated, Ruby.” He shook his head and pulled his hands away from mine. “My dad was smart. He rarely left evidence of his abuse. Even that night, I was the only one hurt. Christian had carpet burns and my mom had red marks, but as usual, the real damage was on the inside.” Liam cracked his window and took a breath of fresh air. “Plus, my dad has a lot of money and he hired an attorney to file a petition to terminate her parental rights, arguing that my mom had poisoned me against him. That she actually brainwashed me into trying to kill him for the money. My brothers were little, and I couldn’t bear to see them being put through all that. And, we didn’t have any money to fight him. He agreed to drop the petition and let her have custody of us if I copped to the assault charge. So I did. He kept his good name along with his multimillion-dollar business, and I took the blame.”

I grimaced at the reality of the situation.

I had been taught—ingrained with the belief, really—that the justice system worked. That the police investigate the crimes, the D. A.’s office prosecutes them, and the Constitution protects it all. Sure, there were glitches, but overall it was the best system in the world. And I preached this at my high school Constitution Society meetings. True, I only founded the stupid club to pad my resume, but I still believed it.

Until now.

Now, I didn’t know what to believe if abusers like Liam’s father and murderers like Father Michael could get away with so many premeditated crimes, with malice aforethought and intent to do harm . Liam had none of that, I had none of that, but we could go down in flames.

“If I’d reported the abuse earlier, documented it, documented some evidence against my father before it all blew up? Maybe he’d be the one with the record and not me.”

“You were just a kid, Liam,” I argued. “How could you have documented evidence against him? That makes no sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense, Ruby,” he said, shaking his head. “After the fact, it was our word against his. And his word meant a whole lot more than ours. He was a well-respected businessman who donated regularly to the campaigns of anyone who mattered in the City of Santa Cruz. The police couldn’t help me even if they believed me.”

“I get it, Liam. I know how much it matters to have connections. I’ve obviously been on the receiving side of that crooked line lately, and I have the same problem you did! I don’t have any evidence. Silver has made damn sure of that,” I said, burned out. Tired of being cold, sick of thinking, and weary of being me.

“I know,” Liam said softly. “I know.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, staring into the dark night. There were no easy answers, and we had almost no one to trust.

“I just need some time.” I interrupted the silence. “I promise, I’ll think about it.”

“In the meantime, is it OK if I come up?” he asked.

“Up where? To my room?” I said, surprised.

“I don’t want to leave you alone,” he said. “Your mom isn’t home yet.”

I looked at the clock. 11:02. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. She’s probably having ‘campaign drinks’ downtown.”

“So…yes?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

“Uh, I guess,” I said, sure about wanting him near, but unsure about what a yes actually meant. “You might want to park your Jeep around the corner, though, so Jane doesn’t immediately call in the cavalry.”

“Cool, because there’s something I want to show you,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eye that my virgin brain couldn’t interpret. Suddenly he was moving his whole body in my direction, and all the frozen blood in my body turned hot. Until I realized he was just leaning over to press the gate-opener button clipped to my sun visor. “I’ll meet you inside,” he said, his lips so close that his breath mingled with mine. “Let’s do this.”

When I finally emerged from the shower, my skin burned bright red. I wiped some of the steam off the mirror and stared at my pitiful reflection, counting up the reasons why I resembled a Hot Tamales candy.

It could’ve been the scalding water I’d used to warm the icy marrow in my bones.

Or the vigorous scrubbing with my loofah to remove the evidence of ever having touched Father Michael.

Or the anger I felt toward Silver for turning me into something I hated.

Or the intermittent impure thoughts I had about Liam alone in my room.

I cracked the window to let the ocean breeze turn me back to a normal color before I got dressed and went out.

I opened the door to find only a bedside lamp was turned on. I’d forgotten for a second that I told Liam not to turn on any more lights in case my mom came home. This way she’d think I’d fallen asleep already.

As I let my eyes adjust to the low light, I discovered Liam totally relaxed (and fully clothed) on my bed. Disappointment (that he had no physical expectations) and relief (that he had no physical expectations) duked it out for control of my emotions. Then a third reaction won out—surprise—when I saw what he had in his hand. A photo. Of a man. With a well-groomed beard that could only be…

“Is that a picture of Silver?” I asked, racing to the bed to snatch it from Liam’s fingers. “How in the—”

“You’re not the only one with high SAT scores,” he said, pulling the picture out of my reach.

“Really? I thought you got on the honor roll by batting your girl lashes at teachers,” I teased back, grabbing the picture.

“Hey, I don’t have girl lashes!” He pretended to be offended. “And I’ll have you know, I study very hard to get my grades. Not all of us are naturally brilliant like you.”

“Whatever.” I smiled without looking back at him, staring at the photo.

It wasn’t great. In fact, it was terrible. But it was something. Silver looked just like Liam described. Handsome, in that “look at my sexily groomed beard” kind of way. Well built. Well dressed. No more than forty years old, if that. What would a guy like this want with me? He looked too normal. This had to be the man that I’d seen across the crowded cafeteria as I was about to faint, and through my blurred vision I made a facial hair miscalculation, projecting my fear of Martinez onto someone else.